


Falcon in the Dive

by dairesfanficrefuge_archivist



Category: Highlander - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-09-05
Updated: 1998-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-18 06:05:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11868228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dairesfanficrefuge_archivist/pseuds/dairesfanficrefuge_archivist
Summary: Note from Daire, the archivist: this story was originally archived atDaire's Fanfic Refuge. Deciding to give the stories a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onDaire's Fanfic Refuge's collection profile.





	Falcon in the Dive

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Daire, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Daire's Fanfic Refuge](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Daire%27s_Fanfic_Refuge). Deciding to give the stories a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Daire's Fanfic Refuge's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/dairesfanficrefuge/profile).

Falcon in the Dive by Quicksilver

_Falcon in the Dive_

By Quicksilver 

Standard Disclaimers apply. The character of Sylvia Vanen (Shayana) is mine, everyone else is borrowed. 

Author's Note: This story hasn't been beta read - I'm looking for a good beta reader, if anyone's interested. 

Scholars were finally able to translate Egyptian hieroglyphics thanks to the lovely Rosetta stone. Since it is a dead language, no one knows what it sounds like - they just make guesses. 

Lyrics from "Falcon in the Dive" aren't mine. Lyrics from "If I Can't Love Her" aren't mine. Disclaimers apply here. 

* * *

_**Part One** _

I wasn't born to walk on water.   
I wasn't born to sack and slaughter.   
But on my soul, I wasn't born to   
To stoop to scorn, and knuckle under.   
A man can learn to steal some thunder.   
A man can learn to work some wonder.   
And when the gauntlet's down, it's time   
To rise and climb the sky. 

Methos leaned back in his chair, trying to get the cricks out of his neck. Hours pouring over the texts and transferring his old journals onto computer were tiring. It was interesting, and he laughed out loud, remembering the incidents that provoke him into writing certain things. The Chronicle he was working on right now was almost two thousand years old, and he chuckled at how pompous he sounded. He wouldn't be three thousand years old again for anything. Teenagers had nothing on that age group. 

Methos wasn't translating everything perfectly, though. This copy would be in the Watcher's possession, and spreading a little misinformation had always been one of his chiefs tricks for remaining a legend. No one was likely to go back over the old texts, not with this new version, and people were quite willing to believe that "Adam Pierson" wouldn't do anything to deliberately screw up the project he'd been working on for over a decade. And a few mistakes could be overlooked. Still, it didn't keep Methos from cursing the discovery of the Rosetta Stone. If that damn thing hadn't been discovered, these journals could have remained safely "incomprehensible." 

Methos scratched his cheek, trying to decide what to do next. He could scan the rest of the texts into the computer, but that might help later Watchers translate the rest of the texts. There was no telling what could happen. Technology was developing so fast that he couldn't even keep track of it. Out of all the years he had lived, he had to admit to feeling the most lost recently. 

Speaking of lost, it appeared that his lunch companion was. MacLeod was always punctual, and his tardiness just wasn't in character. Methos pushed a feeling of concern aside. Damn boyscout. Was probably off somewhere helping little old ladies cross the street. He sighed and grabbed his overcoat, and headed for the door. 

* * *

MacLeod, meanwhile, was in a rather tight situation. He felt the buzz of another immortal, and then a slender woman stepped out of the shadows, rather melodramatically. She was delicately boned and couldn't have weighed more than 110 pounds soaking wet, for all of her five and a half feet. Her long black hair was caught back in a ponytail, and her eyes were a rich chocolate. She was attractive, like most immortals, but nowhere near as beautiful as Nefertiti had been. He wondered why the Egyptian had come to mind. 

"Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," he announced tensely. He really didn't want a fight. One strong blow could probably knock this one over. 

She nodded and motioned him towards a parking garage. Lots of breakable things there, he thought with a inward groan, but fairly deserted. She watched him move, as he watched her. 

"I have no quarrel with you," he told her, trying to avoid the confrontation he could sense she wanted. 

She shook her head and moved into the shadows. He heard the slight whoosh of a sword being drawn, and drew his own. "The Game, MacLeod," she said, speaking for the first time. "We all have a quarrel with each other." 

"Who are you?" he demanded. 

"Shayana of the Gods know where," she said with a quick grin. Her voice more than made up for her lack of beauty. It was smooth as well-aged wine, and just as intoxicating. She leapt forward, swinging her sword eagerly. He met the attack, surprised by the strength behind the blow. Combat had begun. 

MacLeod found himself on the defensive more often then not. She was damn good, he thought, barely managing to block a blow aimed at his head. She fought in the style used by most females, relying on trickery and speed more than brute strength. It was like fighting Grayson, he thought, trying to keep calm. She just cut through everyone of his defenses like a hot knife through butter. 

Then he made a mistake. A small one, but Shayana pounced on it like a cat. MacLeod was so intent on keeping the flashing sword back that he forgot to watch her other hand. Shayana pulled a dagger from God-knows-where and shoved it deep into his stomach. 

MacLeod instinctively lowered a hand to the open gash, stubbornly holding onto his sword. He was beaten, and they both knew it. He looked up into her dark eyes, almost relieved that his head would be taken by someone he didn't know and love, or have a long-standing quarrel with. She raised the sword for the final blow..... 

.....And then they felt the Buzz of another Immortal. She spat a curse in a language MacLeod didn't recognize and lowered her sword arm. "A tout a l'heure," she said, smiling as she bowed at the waist formally. Then she faded into the shadows. Duncan stayed tense, unable to rise. He was dying, and knew it. 

* * *

Methos wandered around for about a half an hour before he felt the distinctive Immortal Buzz. He headed towards it cautiously. When he got closer to the source, he could hear the clash of swords. The sound of someone falling. 

Surprisingly, a Quickening didn't accompany it. He quickened his steps, and the sight he found shocked him. MacLeod on his knees, holding his insides in place. He was going to expire soon. 

"What the hell, MacLeod!" he exploded, putting his sword up. Duncan looked at him with dazed eyes, the light fading out of them. Methos looked around and dragged the Highlander's body to an unoccupied corner. He watched as MacLeod died, and sat guard. In about ten minutes, Duncan heaved a gasp, looked at his recently healed stomach, and then towards Methos' charming face. 

"Now please explain what happened. From what I saw, you are damned lucky to still have your head," Methos said. 

MacLeod sat still for a minute, trying to get his bearings. "I shouldn't. She must have run off because she felt your Buzz and didn't want to be vulnerable after taking my head." He shuddered once, then started to get to his feet. "Not that I can imagine her being vulnerable." 

"Her?" Methos asked, trying to imagine a woman defeating MacLeod, and being unable to. "Who was she?" 

MacLeod started to limp out of the garage. "I've never met her before. Claimed her name was Shayana. She's bloody good," he said quietly. 

Methos' eyes took on a glazed look. "I've got to go. You'll be okay, right? Of course you will," he answered his own question. "Shay won't be after you until you have a chance to get yourself back together," he turned and walked away, moving like the hounds of hell were on his heels. 

"Shay? Methos! Methos! Who is she? Do you know her?" he bellowed to the oldest immortal's retreating back. Methos paid him no heed, and MacLeod knew there was only one thing to do. 

_a tout a l'heure - see you later in French - quite literally, "At a later hour"_

* * *

**Part Two**

Hunt for the man!   
Comb the City!   
Ev'ry street, ev'ry grate!   
Set a guard at ev'ry gate   
Drag him out!   
Shout the moment you find him! 

Joe Dawson's face was paler than Duncan had ever seen it. "Are you sure she said her name was Shayana?" 

MacLeod felt himself become even more agitated. It wasn't enough that he'd almost been killed, but now Joe was staring at him like he'd seen a ghost. Frustrating, and infuriating. "'Of course I'm sure," he snapped back. 

Dawson took a stiff drink of his whiskey before he answered. "And she just left you alone when she felt Methos approaching?" 

"Yes. Who is she?" MacLeod demanded. 

"She's the oldest head hunter we know of." 

"Head hunter? She's older than Methos?" 

Joe shook his head and leaned back into he chair. "Head hunter - slang for an aggressive player of the game. A head hunter actively seeks combat. Shayana's been at it for the past four thousand years or so. She's the oldest LIVING immortal that we currently have records on - aside from Methos. Unlike him, she makes no bones about hiding. Uses about six pseudonyms over and over." 

MacLeod frowned. "If she's so old, how come I've never heard of her?" he asked. 

"Because she doesn't seek contact with other immortals, no students, no friends, no lovers. If she meets one, she challenges them. No immortal has ever heard her name and lived to speak about it. Until you," Joe finished quietly. 

Duncan rose to his feet and started to pace. "Until me? Will she keep coming?" 

Joe looked uncomfortable. "I don't know. This has never happened before. Most likely, yes. Shayana uses her anonymity as a weapon." 

Duncan bit his lip. "Are you sure that no other immortal knows about her? Methos seemed spooked when I mentioned her name." 

Joe tugged on his short beard thoughtfully. "I can't tell you. Methos is awfully sketchy - and he has his own Chronicles right now. What he's doing to them, I shuddered to think. It wouldn't surprise me if he erased any mention of Shayana. He'd do it just to be spiteful." 

"Or to save her," MacLeod added thoughtfully. 

* * *

Sylvia Vanen was the teacher from Hell, or so half her class thought. The other half adored her. 

She was an interesting sight - tall, yet she managed to look almost fragile, something that she definitely was not. Her hair was a glossy black, always tied back. Most of the male students longed to run their hands through it, touch it to see if it was as soft as it looked. Not that any of them would dare. Her skin was smooth and tanned, and her eyes were almost black. She'd only been teaching here for about three months, but already stories were circulating about her. 

The reason why her Senior History class was legendary was because of her lessons. She seemed determined to pound as much theory as possible into the Senior's heads, which was almost sad. They were waiting to graduate, and here she was trying to actually TEACH them. She was a cruel person. 

But she was an excellent teacher. A few of them realized this, and seemed to understand that teachers like Ms Vanen were rare. She truly loved what she did, and tried to share her love of history with them. Her subtle sense of humor delighted some of the more attentive class members, and they knew that she'd bend over backwards to help them, if they'd only ask. 

Sylvia Vanen walked into the classroom late one morning to find her first period class goofing around, throwing papers all over the room. She gave them an icy look and they immediately settled down. Placing her books on her desk, she smiled sweetly. "Is anyone missing?" she asked rhetorically, knowing that no one would miss her class. "Good." 

She immediately started into a lecture on the Civil War and the Reconstruction after it, making many jokes about Northern "carpet baggers." She paused now and then so her students could catch up with their notes. 

The rest of the day continued much along the same vein, with her giving lectures. During last period, though, the students observed a startling change. She stopped midstream, seeming to forget what she was saying. Her eyes shifted to the left, then right, uneasily. She tried to start again, but she was clearly rattled. the students began to whisper, wondering what to do. This was so out of character that it caused concern for her health. Much as some of them disliked her, they didn't want to see her expire before them, and her pale, chalky face said that that was a definite possibility. 

The sound of the phone ringing seemed to startle her out of her befuddlement. She grabbed it quickly, almost shrieking a greeting to the school secretary. "Hello?" she asked loudly, her back pressed to the wall. Then she seemed to calm somewhat. "This is Vanen. What student do you want?" she asked, thinking the call was either one of the school nurses or guidance counselors. 

She listened for a second, her entire body tensing. "Of course. I'll be right there." She hung up the phone roughly and scanned the room. "Danielle, you're in charge. And in case I'm not back by final bell, I think I'll tell you that we're having a Quiz on Chapter 16. I suggest you finish reading it." 

She tossed them a nasty grin and headed for the door, absentmindedly grabbing her long jacket. 

* * *

Methos stood leaning against the library door, waiting. He'd looked through the Watcher records and found her. He found it hard to believe. A female surviving the Game for this long? It was unheard of. Aside from those who "Cheated" by putting themselves out of commission for a while, the oldest he'd heard of was around two thousand. And Shayana was at least twice that old. 

He heard the soft patter of feet coming from his right. He turned his head to watch her come around the corner. 

She shook her head at him, smiling slightly. "Hello, teacher," she said, bowing with her hands pressed to her forehead. She had a tense smile on her face. Aside from her ancient eyes, she was exactly as he remembered her. 

"Shayana," he replied, grabbing one of her hands and kissing the back of it. Her eyes widened as she hastily pulled it back. 

"Having problems keeping up with the times?" she asked teasingly, her smiling face tilting up to meet his eyes. Methos noticed how she carefully was keeping him an arm's length away from her. He felt slightly stung, and surprised that the distance she placed between them hurt. 

He frowned at her, trying to remember why he'd come to see her. "I'm a techie, but that's not why I'm here." 

She giggled, and motioned for him to lead her outside. "A five-thousand year old techie?" 

He tried to keep in a serious mood, but it was difficult to with her looking at him with her laughing eyes. Of all immortals, she was the one he felt closest to. And the one he was most afraid of. 

"Yes, I've confessed. But I have to have a talk with you." He grabbed her by her left arm and led her to his vehicle, ignoring how she tensed at his touch. When he glanced at her, he noticed how her eyes were clouded. Trying not to show his concern for her, he shoved her in the passenger side and climbed into the other. 

"Quite a change from the horses, isn't it?" he asked, trying to make small talk. 

She glanced at him. "You've got me alone now, darling," she returned. "What do you want?" 

Methos decided that there was no better time, even though he would have preferred having the comforting taste of beer to give him some Dutch courage. "You've been head hunting again, haven't you?" he asked. 

She laughed lightly. "You sound like a parent reprimanding a child! Of course I've been head-hunting. It's the object of the Game - there can only be one. How many times did you tell me that?" 

He slammed the brakes on, flinging Shayana hard against the dashboard. "Tsk, tsk," he said. "You should know better than to forget to put your seatbelt on. Come on," he said, grabbing her arm and dragging her across the seat. She allowed him to, surprised to see him so angry with her. 

He dragged her the last two blocks, trying to remind himself that whatever she was, he had helped make her. "When was the last time you had a friend?" he asked. 

"You," she responded quickly, as he shoved her through the door of a bar called "Joe's." 

His eyes widened. "Don't you have any contacts with other Immortals? Mortal lovers, maybe?" 

"None," she responded, tensing as she felt the presence of another immortal. "What have you brought me into?" she asked. Her dark eyes turned to him, betrayed. 

"I want you to meet someone," he answered, dragging her towards the dark man seated at the bar. 

"MacLeod!" she yelped, squiggling against Methos' firm grasp on her arm. 

Duncan spun around, and looked at her. She looked even more harmless fighting against Methos. "Shayana," he said tensely. "Do you want to go outside?" he asked. 

"Neither of you is fighting the other! Joe, bring us all beers, on me!" he announced, stunning the barkeep. This was the first time he'd ever heard of Methos buying someone else a beer. 

He grabbed MacLeod with his free hand and pulled them over to a small table in the corner. Shoving them into seat across from each other, he took the one between them. "Duncan MacLeod, I'd like you to meet my former student, Shayana," he said tensely. 

Shayana glared at both men at the same time, a remarkable talent. "We've met," she replied. 

"This....hellion is YOUR student, Adam?" he asked, unsure if Shayana was aware of the younger-seeming man's REAL name and nature. 

"Yes, I am," Shayana returned. "Or was." 

Methos looked at the both of them. "I have few friends who know who I really am," he said softly. "I would prefer it if they did not kill each other." 

MacLeod nodded agreement. "I prefer not to kill." 

"Then you're a fool," Shayana said grimly. "We play the greatest game there ever was, and you prefer not to KILL? How HAVE you survived this long?" 

Joe arrived with the beers then and put one in front of each of his customers. Methos motioned for him to take the last chair at the table, and Joe gladly slid into it. He wanted very much to hear this conversation. 

MacLeod looked at her grimly. "I fight when I am challenged. It seems wiser then to go actively seeking trouble." 

Shayana waved a threatening finger in MacLeod's face, and he was deeply tempted to bite it. "Are you trying to say what I do is wrong? I've lived ten times as long as you, and trust me, I know what I'm doing. I fully intend on being the One." 

He looked at her. "Ten times? How can you tell?" he asked, hoping Methos hadn't told her anything about him. 

She shrugged. "There's something about a person's Quickening. If you pay attention, you can tell quite a bit from it. You've taken a head recently, haven't you? You're Quickening is still somewhat disrupted. You haven't quite assimilated the other Quickening - yet. Another two weeks or so, I'd guess." 

MacLeod looked at her. "Assimilated?" 

She nodded. "It takes a while to get it all under your control. Consider the Beheading like downloading a bunch of information that gets all jumbled up. Your Quickening then sorts and files the information, but it takes a while. That's why a Dark Quickening-" she began, then noticed how the Watcher was watching her. 

"Don't you know any of this?" she asked, surprised. "I would have thought that you'd've figured it out, what with all your studies." 

Joe looked at her, but uncharacteristically said nothing. Methos was so close mouthed that getting the time of day out of him was a struggle, and MacLeod was (by Immortal standard) still young. Shayana, on the other hand, had a lovely voice and adored using it. He hoped she'd let more slip if he played it right. 

Methos was now deep into his beer, but he noticed that neither MacLeod or Shayana had started to drink. "Why don't you take a drink? Might calm your nerves a little, both of you," he asked, trying to corner Shayana. 

She slanted him a sly looked from her large eyes. "Not quick enough, Old Man," she returned. 

Joe and MacLeod looked at them both quizzically. "Huh?" Joe said, speaking for the first time. 

Shayana noticed the mortal, seemingly for the first time. "Old custom. Breaking bread, a way of swearing peace. The only Immortal I've ever broken bread with is....Adam? That the name you're using now?" 

He looked at her, his hazel eyes dark with some emotion that she couldn't read. "They know who I am, Shay," he said quietly. "And I'm asking you two to break bread together," he finished, including MacLeod. 

"You want me to swear peace? But he's seen me!" she exclaimed. 

"Have I betrayed you yet, Shay?" Methos asked. "MacLeod won't, either." 

MacLeod picked up his beer, watching her. She cursed and pushed the beer away, causing all the men at the table to tense. Methos pushed it back towards her and took her hand. "Please, Shay?" he said in Ancient Egyptian. "For me?" 

She met his eyes, and picked up the beer. For a second Joe thought she was going to throw it in Methos' face, but then she took a long drought. "Just don't expect me to be friends with him. I WAS going to find him tonight, but I guess I'll just have to find someone else," she said thoughtfully. 

All sorts of horrid thoughts went through MacLeod's mind. "Wait a minute! I have a student here, and I want you to leave him alone!" 

Shayana's eyes narrowed. "I'm not going to-" 

Methos placed a hand on her leg, pushing her back into her seat. "Shayana-" he said, warningly. 

"Fine. Keep him out of my way, and I won't go hunting. What's he look like?" she asked MacLeod. 

"Your word you won't hunt him." 

She looked at him. "I'll already gave it to you - and I do NOT lie." 

"His name's Richie. Richie Ryan. Young, nineteen or so, red hair, blue eyes, nice build. And if you go after him, I'll kill you," MacLeod threatened. 

Shayana smiled, almost too cheerfully. "It's fine." She raised her beer. "Down it goes," she said, polishing the glass off. 

_NOTE: Sylvia Vanen is speaking of the American Civil War. My brother's a re-enactor, so I couldn't resist. Just for you, Johnny Reb!_

* * *

**Part Three**

And from my tortured shape   
No comfort, no escape   
I see, but deep within is utter blindness   
Hopeless - as my dream dies   
As the time flies   
Love, a lost illusion   
Helpless   
Unforgiven   
Cold and Driven   
To the sad conclusion 

Amanda was, by nature, a rebel. She hated authority figures, especially law official types. Here she was, a lady well over a thousand (though she didn't look a day over thirty) and those little CREEPS had the nerve to tell HER that she couldn't pursue her chosen trade. Never mind that she had been told the same thing throughout the centuries (come to think of it, her loose definition of ownership had something to do with her First Death). It was the fact that she was old enough to be their many times great-grandmother that got to her. She really wished she could get away with the "respect for your elders" line. Impudent upstarts. She satisfied herself with the thought that they'd be dead before she blinked twice. While it was hard to see loved ones lost to the ravages of time, there was a certain malicious satisfaction to be gained from watching the enemy die. Even if the enemy was a police officer. Come to think of it, ESPECIALLY a police officer. A lot of those pricks just wore a badge to make up for what they were missing below the belt. 

She'd missed MacLeod very much. Surprising, in a way. Self-sufficient though she was, sometimes she wanted to just grab him and never let go. Then she remembered who she was. 

Amanda cleared customs easily. A young man was SO helpful, helping her cut in line and all. Strange how she was never able to do that with a young woman. Paris was lovely, but her life had gotten boring. She figured that a week with MacLeod should cure that, and remind her WHY she left. Trouble seemed to follow him the way a puppy followed its mother. 

She was just about to grab her bags when she felt the distinctive presence of another Immortal. Thinking MacLeod had heard of her arrival (those Watchers were useful for something aside from causing problems at times), she spun around with a glad cry, ready to fling herself into his arms. 

She halted abruptly, seeing that it wasn't MacLeod. In fact, it wasn't even a male. It was an attractive female wearing a predatory smile. Amanda looked around, trying to find some way to avoid her. 

"It won't work, you know, child," the woman said. "I'll just keep following you until you agree to fight me." 

Amanda opened her mouth to protest, but was overwhelmed by the buzz of another immortal. She turned to see MacLeod coming. "MacLeod!" she yelled, waving a hand energetically and flinging herself into his arms. "She's after me!" Amanda hissed in his ear. 

MacLeod frowned at the woman. "Less than twelve hours, Shayana? Can't you keep your word longer than that?" 

Shayana stalked forward and grabbed MacLeod by the shirt, separating him from his lady love. "I am NOT breaking my word. I promised that you and another youngster - Ryan, I think - are safe from me. And so you are. But don't pretend she's one of your students - she's OLD, dear, older than you. I've issued a challenge, and you cannot interfere." 

Amanda watched the exchange. "You two know each other?" she asked, hoping she could get out of the way with her head in attached. 

"We've met," he responded dryly. "She's an old friend of Methos'." He turned to Shayana. "And Amanda is Methos' friend as well. He won't like it if you chop her to pieces." 

Shayana swore, and it sounded exactly like what she had said the day they had fought. "Methos? Friends? How well do you think you really know him? I've known him for four millennia, and I still don't understand him. And I don't buy that. Another friend of Methos'? Methos doesn't have friends." 

Duncan looked at her angrily. "He won't like Amanda being killed, and then I would have to go after you..." he said, threatening her with the possibility of breaking her oath 

She tossed her braid over her shoulder and started to walk away. Then she paused, looking back over her shoulder. "How am I suppose to play the Game if you stupid idiots insist on protecting each other? There can be only one, MacLeod, and the One is going to be me. I'll wait....for now...." she trailed off, quickly getting lost in the crowds. 

MacLeod watched her go, and felt himself tense. They hadn't heard the last of Shayana. And the next time, nothing Methos could do would stop her. He thought of all the friends he had, and shuddered. Shayana had been right. There could be only One, and MacLeod had the feeling that it just might be her. 

THE END

* * *

Want a sequel? Feedback! Feedback! 

© 1998   
Please send comments to the author! 

09/05/1998 

* * *


End file.
